


Awakening Within: The Dragon Uprising

by Darkchild1376



Series: Dragonborn [1]
Category: Dragon Uprising, Dragonborn - Fandom, Elder Scrolls, Skyrim
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-01 09:19:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4014283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkchild1376/pseuds/Darkchild1376
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nira Strongblade isn't just waking up in the back of a cart, she is waking up to her destiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One:  A Rude Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fanfiction I have written. I look forward to comments, please be kind, and I hope you enjoy the story.

Chapter One: A Rude Awakening

The earth is rocking under my body, the slow swaying is making my stomach roll. Moving feels impossible; everything feels like it weighs a hundred iron ingots. I force my eyelids open.

My sight is fuzzy, forcing me to concentrate on focusing. When my vision clears, the first thing I see are my wrists bound tightly together and I am sitting in a old wooden cart. Well, that explains the rocking. It’s being driven by a man in red leather armor and pulled by one tired looking horse.

Pulling my raven black hair out of my face, I quickly take in the rest of my surroundings. In front of us is another cart filled with more prisoners and a man in heavy steel and leather armor is leading this misfit filled caravan on horseback. Behind us, one lone soldier sits atop a pathetic excuse for a mare.

An adrenaline rush sends my brain bursting into a flurry of activity. What in Oblivion happened? How did I wind up bound in this dinky cart? What can I do to escape? Where in Skyrim am I? How did I get caught? I am a sneaky thief for the god’s sake! And most importantly, what was I doing out in the middle of no where? I try to remember but all I get are blurry bits and pieces of memories. The sun streaming through the trees, the treading of running footsteps, and yelling of angry voices. I am snapped back to the present by an unfamiliar voice.

“Hey, you. You’re finally awake.” I take notice to the man, who I think is a soldier, sitting across from me. His typical Nord features are handsome despite being covered in dirt and grime. He has soft blue eyes, sandy blond hair, and a strong chin. His blue leather armor fits his well toned body like a glove. Handsome bastard. I think I remember someone in his colored armor picking me up off the ground. Maybe that is how I wound up in this cart. If that’s the case, this man owes me an explanation and I owe him an ass-kicking.

He studies me for a moment, then continues, “You were trying to cross the border, right?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us. Oh, and that thief over there.” I detect a bit of venom in his tone towards the thief. 

Well then, I think I will just keep my thieving ways to myself. Don’t want to get on anyone else’s bad side today.

“The Empire was nice and lazy before you damn Stormcloaks came along.” The thief must have been insulted at the other man’s tone. The man strikes me as somewhat weak and probably not at all any good at being a thief from look the of his tattered clothing. He continues to whine, “I could’ve been halfway to Hammerfell on that horse by now if it hadn’t been for you!”

“We’re all brother and sisters in binds now, thief,” the soldier says grimly.

I say nothing even though I agree with soldier. I roll my eyes at the thief. I despise people who refuse to take responsibility for their actions, especially thieves. Thieves enter the life knowing fully well there is a good chance they will get caught, pay fines, spend time in jail, and possibly die for their chosen lifestyle. It’s just the way it is. For a person to do less than take responsibility for their actions is an insult to the life and to all thieves. Not to mention it gives all of us a bad reputation. 

The so called thief turns his attention to me. “You and me shouldn’t be here. The Empire wants the Stormcloaks, not us,” he pleads. I am unamused by his whining. He realizes quickly he isn’t going to get sympathy from me and he once again moves his attention to someone else. 

This time his attention falls on the fourth and last man sitting next to me. This man is also bound at the wrists, but unlike us, he has been gagged. He has light brown hair with braids hanging down each side of his chiseled Nordic face. His eyes are a stunning shade of blue, almost as light as mine own. He is tall for a Nord, I can tell by how he is slouching on the little bench of the cart. He is wearing the same colored leather armor as the soldier, but this man is also wearing furs. This strange man with a strong presence spikes my curiosity as well as other things.

“What’s wrong with him?” the thief snaps out. If the guard driving the cart doesn’t punch him, I just might do it myself.

The Nord across from me whips his head toward the thief, angry fire burning in his eyes. “Watch your tongue!” he demands. “You are speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim.”

Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm!? My mind is racing trying to get itself around the enormously deep pile of horker shit I stepped into.

The thief’s jaw drops and he stares at the gagged man in terror. “Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You’re the leader of the rebellion. Oh gods, where are they taking us?” His hitched voice mimics the exact words I am thinking. A cold stone of fear drops into the pit of my stomach. 

“I don’t know where we’re going, but Sovngarde awaits.” The Nord man across from says the words with a little smile on his face.

I always knew a time would come when I would get caught stealing something or doing something stupid. But I always thought when I died for my deeds I was going to be able to remember what I did! Why can’t I remember what happened? I shiver as much from the wintery cold as I do from fear.

“Hey what village are you from horse thief?” 

“Rorikstead, I’m … from Rorikstead. Why?” His words are drenched with suspicion.

In a tone that almost sounds like a lullaby, the soldier replies, “A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.”

We have been travelling long enough to watch the sun reach its peak and just as I wonder if we are ever going to get to where we are headed, a small village comes into view. From the outside, I can see two small towers peeking over the stone wall. There are soldiers stationed everywhere. The closer we get to the town, the more panic I feel. 

The wooden gate opens and soldier steps out to greet the ringleader or our death caravan. “General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!”

Oh shit, I really am going to die today!

“Good. Let’s get this over with,” he replies.

There will be no trial, no possibility to bribe someone to get out of this mess. I won’t be seeing the inside of jail this time either. Talos guide me.

The thoughts in my head are once again copied by the thief who cries to Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth and Akatosh to help him. His breathing has quickened, the color of his skin has sallowed and a thin sheen of sweat is covering his terrified face.

Our cart follows the one in front of us through the gate. As we veer to the left we all see General Tullis sitting high on his horse speaking with an elf.

“Look at him, General Tullis, the Military Governor,” spits the captive soldier. “and it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this.”

I never have had much love for elves. I find them to be self-centered, egotistical beings. But out of all of them, I consider the Thalmor the absolute worst. They feel compelled to force all of Skyrim to bow down to them and their spiritual faith. They have the audacity to prosecute us for staying true to our traditions and gods in our own homeland. One day, I will rid not only Skyrim of their haughty faces, but all of Tamriel. 

The cart has slowed to a crawl, which gives me plenty of time to put the scrawny elf’s face to memory. She is average height for an elf, has greenish-yellow hair, piercing yellow eyes and the pastiest gray skin color I have ever seen on any creature. She must sit high in the Thalmor ranks though, for her dark gray mage robes are sporting three rows of golden trim. I do believe I will enjoy killing her.

The townsfolk are out, standing on their porches or sitting on their steps to hiss at the conquered Stormcloaks and hailing the victorious Imperials. 

“Da, where are they going?” inquires a small boy, maybe only age eight or nine. 

“It’s time to go inside the house, little cub” his father directs. At least he has some sense in his head. No child should have to see an execution at such a tender age. Warps their little heads.

We come around the last of the circular road and our cart pulls up to a stop next to the first cart.

My heart and stomach exchange places, bile rising in my throat. My vision blurs and my body is too weak to stand. This is it. I am really going to die. By the Nine, this is horse shit! 

“End of the line.” The soldier states as he and Ulfric stand up together. “Let’s go. Shouldn’t keep the gods waiting.” He smiles down at me, offering his bound hands. “It will be alright, Lass.” I take the Nord’s hand, surprised that they are so warm, and hoist myself to a standing position. Shock must be gracing my face because he chuckles at me as I wobble on aching legs. 

Standing united with our heads high, we are prepared to meet our ancestors in Sovngarde like proud Nords. All except for our horse thief that is. He must have made other plans and didn’t invite us to the party.  
Just as Ulfric is ready to jump to the ground, the thief pushes him out of the way and leaps out of the cart. It was all the soldier and I could do to grab ahold of Ulfric before he tumbled out of the wagon. The three of us watched in shock and awe as he burst into a speedy run.

Huh, how about that. I didn’t think he could move that fast.

The thief barrels past the Imperial Captain, screaming, “I am no rebel! This is a mistake!”

The Captain hollers, “Archers!”

A tall thin man on top of a tower pulls the string of his bow tight, nocking an arrow and, taking aim, allowing it to sing through the air right into the back of its target. The horse thief slams face first into the ground and doesn’t move.

With an evil sneer on her face, the Imperial Captain cries, “Anyone else want to run? Now get these prisoners out the carts!”

Well, I’m glad I wasn’t invited to that party.

Ulfric jumps down first, his man following him. I step up to the edge of the cart and the Nord once again offers me a hand. I am surprised that I actually want to take it, hold it and not let go. It could just be a mental thing having to do with knowing my existence on this earth is about to end. Then again, I do find him very good looking. Musing the ideas of impossible trysts, I take his hands into mine, and leap out of the cart. Before he lets go, his gives my frozen fingers a warm little squeeze. 

“Step toward the block when Hadvar calls your name!” bellows the Imperial Captain. She is short and stocky for an Imperial. Her beady black eyes peer out from under her helmet. What I wouldn’t do to steal her pointy sword from her side and jam into her throat.

I study this Hadvar. He is less than average height and the Imperial armor sits heavy and clumsily on his small Nord frame. His reddish brown hair is cut short to the scalp and his face is clean shaven. 

Obviously a Nord trying to impersonate an Imperial and failing miserably. 

Hadvar clears his throat, “Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm.”

Ulfric steps away from us. The curiosity that is this man again peaks my interest. He walks to his death with a casual swagger, as if he is browsing through a marketplace. His face is calm and smooth. You would think he is about to sit down to enjoy a honey mead with the emperor himself instead of meet the headsman’s axe. What makes a man look death in the face with such a calm demeanor?

Ralof of Riverwood is the next name Hadvar calls and the soldier standing next to me, the first person I saw when I woke up in the back of the cart, steps forward. Ralof… not bad. A good strong Nordic name. He too, walks with a calmness about him, be it a little less impressive than Ulfric. Both men continue to impress me.

“Lokir of Rorikstead!” No one moves. We all look around for the missing captive.

“Where is… Oh. He is probably the dead skeever in the dirt. Next name!” The barking of the Imperial Captain is starting to irk me.

Hadvar scours over his list. He looks up at me in puzzlement. “You there. Step forward.” His tone is softer than before. Maybe he is just being nice because I am a girl. I step up to him in two long quick strides that startles the Imperial Captain enough to put a hand on the hilt of her sword. Strangely, Hadvar doesn’t even flinch.

“Who are you?” he asks, again in that same soft tone.

“I am Nira Strongblade, a true sister of Skyrim.” My voice comes out clear and strong, invoking the rest of the captives to chime in and create quite a stir. The Imperial soldiers put a speedy end to the revelry.

“Captain, what should we do? She isn’t on the list.” Hadvar inquires.

“Forget the list, she goes to the block.” There is that sneering glare again. If I get the chance, I am going to rip her face off with my bare hands.

“By your orders, Captain.” The soft, comforting tone has been replaced with a cold, steely voice. Hadvar obviously doesn’t like the answer he has been given. “I’m sorry. It seems you picked a bad time to return home to Skyrim, kinsman. At least you’ll die here in your homeland.” The words are soft, filled with sympathy and laced with sorrow. “Follow the Captain, prisoner.”

I don’t say anything in reply to his words. There aren’t any to be said. He is a Nord sending his own people to their deaths, an unforgivable act. The Empire can have him, for he is no kinsman of mine. And he couldn’t even use my name.

I do as I am told and fall in behind the Imperial Captain. So arrogant of her to let me walk behind her. If there weren’t so many guards around it would be so easy to lift her sword from her side and stab her in the back. She wouldn’t even know it’s happening until she is lying face down in a puddle of dirt and blood. But, as satisfying as it would be, it’s too risky.

I stand next to Ralof, as it seems we have made some strange connection with each other in this very short period of time. He glances my way and winks at me in encouragement. I nod my head, wondering how anyone can be courageous when they are staring death in the face.

Captain Tullius steps up to Ulfric but is sure to keep a safe distance. I admit I admire the man for having some sense of self preservation. I’m sure if Ulfric had the chance he would kill Tullius.

“Ulfric Stormcloak,” Tullius begins, “Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn’t use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne.” Well that explains the gag.

But the Voice? It can’t be. No human has learned to wield the Voice since Talos himself. I remember the stories my mum used to tell me when I was a girl, saying the only person who could learn the dragon language and use it is someone with dragon blood called the Dragonborn. Could Ulfric be such a man? If that is the case, no wonder the Empire wants him dead.

Ignoring Ulfric’s muffled replies, Tullius continues, “You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, restore the peace.”

Tullius is cut short by an eerie cry coming from the clouds. It’s a deep sound, nothing I have ever heard before. Yet, something within me, something old and wise, pulls at the mysterious sound like it desires my answer. My blood makes me feel like I should know what the cry is. I am only sent into further confusion when I notice Ulfric looking back at me with understanding in his eyes.

“What was that?” Hadvar asks, a bit of a quiver in his voice.

With great irritation in his voice, Tullius orders the sound to be ignored and to carry on. I have a feeling that is the wrong decision to make. Complying with his orders like a lap dog, the Imperial Captain calls to a Priestess of Arkay to give us our last rights. Damn Imperials can’t even give us the Death Path of Talos.

The Priestess starts to bless our souls with what I assume will be a long diatribe to Arkay. A Stormcloak soldier, obviously impatient to die, declares, “For the love of Talos, shut up and get on with it. I haven’t got all day.” Such a typical Nord.

He steps up to the block willingly and places his head in the grove of the chopping block. My voice is caught in my throat and dizziness swims around me as watch the headsman prepare to do his work.

The headsman raises his axe high over his head and the brave, or maybe crazy Nord declares, “My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials, can you say the same?” 

The axe leaves a streak of silver through the air as it crashes down on the man’s neck, severing his head cleanly with a soggy thud. His headless body tips over and blood gushes onto the stony pavement. The basket his head fell into is steeping in so much blood, it too is repainting the pathway.

Not bothering to move the dead man’s body or head, the Imperial Captain looks directly at me and calls for me to take my turn at the block. For a moment my feet are frozen in place.

I fear she will cut me down where I stand if I don’t get a move on when another blood curdling cry from above stops everyone in their tracks. All eyes begin to search the skies. In the few seconds I am granted, I debate how far I will get if I run while everyone is distracted. I glance around and catch Ulfric staring at me again, his beautiful sky blue eyes piercing right through to my very soul. That same old something inside me shifts. What is it with this man?

“I said, next prisoner!” the Imperial Captain shouts.

Miraculously, I am able to take a steady step forward. Hadvar watches me with sad eyes and says, “To the block prisoner, nice and easy.”

So much for sympathy. The bastard could have at least used my name. Now I am just another dead Nord walking.

His words piss me off and fuel my determination not to give one ounce of satisfaction to these Imperial scum. I march myself right up to the block, kneel down and put my head in crook. The block is cold has Northern ice and sticky from its last victim’s blood. I guess a dead woman shouldn’t worry about hygiene.

I intentionally placed my head facing the headsman. If he is going to take my head, I want him to see the hatred in my eyes as he does it. Looking up, just past the him, I see something large swoop by.

It’s huge, the color of the blackest night. The body is covered in sharp horns and talons like armor and its wingspan is the size of two inns. The creature lands on the stone tower behind the headsman and I realize it’s a dragon!


	2. Chapter Two: Unbound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nira Strongblade is about to find out some legends are real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter two. I'm planning on posting a chapter each week. I still don't know how many chapters will be in this one tome, yet. 
> 
> As always, comments are welcome, but please be kind and I hope you enjoy the story.

Time slows to a crawl. The headsman slowly starts to lift the axe over his head. Tullius yells out in shock at the huge beast. The dragon, sitting on it’s perch, takes in its surroundings. When it spies me, it’s yellow eyes burn into me, through me. The headsman’s axe starts its descent to take off my head.

The black creature opens his mouth and shouts “Fus! Roh! Da!” It never takes its eyes off me. 

I then hear the word “Dovahkiin” pound into my head, causing it to burst into pain; my mind is unable to interpret the word. My body rebels against the ignorance of my brain, demanding understanding. My intestines betray me, whatever was in my stomach makes a reappearance. My blood boils hot in my veins, pushing my heart to its limit. I feel as if my very soul is being ripped to shreds. Again, my vision fails, turning into blurry colored patches until the darkness begins to creep in from all sides. 

Right before I go completely under, time speeds back. I hear cursing, screams and cries. I know if I don’t do something soon I will be dead and at this point it doesn’t matter if it’s from the Imperials or the dragon. I will myself up onto my knees. My body is slowly returning back to my command. Looking around the Imperial Captain is directing her men to start an assault and Tullius is bellowing orders to get the townspeople to safety.

The beast shouts again, this time with the threat of death if I don’t answer its call. What is happening to me? 

“Kinsman! Get up!” Ralof runs up to my side. “The gods won’t give us another chance. This way!” He grabs my bindings and drags me behind him to the safety of a tower. He kicks the door open and practically throws me inside. Ulfric and another Stormcloak follow me and Ralof brings up the rear, slamming the door shut and dropping the bar across. At least the Imperials won’t be coming in that way.

I slide myself the rest of the way to the cold stone floor, trying to calm my breathing, make sense out of what is happening and get my wits about me.

“Jarl Ulfric! Could the legends be true? Has he returned to bring the end of days?” Ralof’s gaze begging Ulfric for answers.

Ulfric took a second before he answered, one second too long. “I don’t know. We have all heard the tales of Alduin. But legends don’t burn down villages.”

Aldin? The World Eater? Surely they must be joking. Before I could muster enough energy to ask myself, Ulfric declared we needed to get moving.

And where does he think we can go? 

I didn’t have to wait long for an answer. Ralof suggested we head up through the tower.

Now that’s brilliant. Trap ourselves on the roof of a stone tower where Imperials can shoot at us and allow the dragon to fly right over us to fry like charred skeever. Brilliant! Just bloody brilliant!

Not wasting a second to think it through, Ralof grabs me by my bindings and drags me up the stairs after him, with Ulfric hot on my heels. “Come on, lass, stay on your feet, now.” Ulfric encourages.

Not like Ralof is giving me any time to fall on my face. 

We are about halfway up the tower, when the entire structure begins to shake, casting down dust and bits of rock. We hear the dragon just on the other side of the wall. I grab a hold of the back of Ralof’s armor, yanking him back just as the dragon shouts Toor Shul! He slams into me hard, taking me off balance, which cause me to fall into Ulfric. We topple down eight or nine steps like wooden soldiers. We all look up to take in what just happened. The spot we were standing on is now a huge gaping hole in the side of the tower. The dragon shouts through the opening, causing top half of the tower to collapse. Ulfric dives on top of me to protect me and Ralof falls on top of Ulfric to protect him. I start to suffocate under their weight and wonder how I find myself in these compromising situations all the time.

The dog pile disperses and we realize there is only one way to go; out the hole the dragon created. 

All three of us look out over the town. Everything is on fire, we can hear people screaming and we can smell the fear and death on the wind. From my vantage point, I can see charred and smoking corpses. My heart bleeds for the very safe people who were about to put me to death. The thought of dying by fire, any fire, sends a cold shiver down my spine.

“See the inn on the other side?” Ralof points to a half dilapidated building next to the tower. “Jump through the open roof and keep going! We will be right behind you!”

“Are you crazy? Did that dragon’s shout loosen your brain?” Panic screaming at him. “I am not jumping! The fall will kill me!”

Anger flashed across Ralof’s face. “If you don’t jump, I will throw you out this hole and into the inn myself.”

Taking two seconds to weigh my choices, I opt to jump. 

Ralof steps up to grab me and I shove his hand away. Taking a running leap I fly out of the tower. My stomach rises to my throat as the second floor of the in flies up to meet me. I land softly, tuck into a roll, pull my foot out in front of me and start to run. 

I look behind me to locate Ralof and Ulfric but neither of them are to be seen. Those milk drinking bastards! They abandoned me! And after I jumped out of the damn tower! If I ever seen that piece of skeever shit again, I am going to punch him in his scrawny Nordic nads!

Now that I am on my own, I need to find a way out of the town before I am turned into a dragon chew toy or am captured by the Imperials again. The staircase has been turned to ash but there is a hole in the floor. Following my gut, I jump to the first floor and burst out the open door… Right into Hadvar.

Gods damn my shitty luck!

He continues to shout out orders as he spies me. I want to go back into the tower to hide, but it’s too late. Taking a page from my book, Hadvar take three long, quick strides to get right in my face. “Still alive prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way.”

For a minute second I thought I was being given a choice. But Hadvar decides I am going to follow him anyway by grabbing my still bound wrists and hauling me along after him.   
Damn Ralof to Oblivion for not cutting my hands free. I really am getting tired of being pulled all over this gods forsaken burning shit hole of a town!

Hadvar and I dash through what is left of the town’s structures, dodging falling debris from above. We come out of the back of a smoking structure and I realize we are close to the gate we first entered earlier that day. The cart ride felt like it happened years ago. 

Still pulling me along, Hadvar shouts at me to stay close to the wall. Good thing he does, because the dragon lands on the top of the last remaining building and plops his huge wing right in the middle of our path. We quietly and quickly skirt around the wing so we don’t gather the dragon’s attention and hug the wall for all we are worth. The dragon lifts off the building, shouting “Toor Shul” causing the last remaining building in Helgen to cave in on itself.

Hadvar leads us through yet another decimated building and when we come out on the other side, I see the gate… and about six Imperials standing between me and my only escape. Luckily the guards are all too busy fighting the dragon to notice me or Hadvar for that matter.

I prepare to make my escape but am thwarted when Hadvar grabs my elbow. Yet again, I am being dragged around like a puppy on a leash. This is getting ridiculous.

Out of the corner of my eye I see the massive black figure of the dragon circling around for another attack on the town. He seems pretty damn intent on destroying everything. This time I do catch his attention and I feel his yellow stare bore into me. For just a second, I lose concentration and start to stumble. Fortunately, Hadvar is there to catch me before I hit the ground. The dragon returns his attention back on the town and I breath a sigh of relief.

There are no words to describe how unsettling it is to have a dragon stare you down, much less feel as if it's touching your very soul.

“Careful, a fall like that could get you killed.” Hadvar says in the now familiar soft tone. Maybe I was wrong, maybe he is a good man. Regardless, I still want to punch him in the face for sending me to the block without using my name.

Making our way under a small overpass, we continue to run for our lives. I now know where we are going. I see there is a back gate to the town and it’s open. We are halfway there when I recognize a familiar figure.  
Hadvar runs up to the figure and calls to him before I can. “Ralof, you damned traitor. “Out of my way!”

Ralof snatches me out of Hadvar’s grip. “We’re escaping, Hadvar, and you’re not stopping us this time.” I see that Ralof has armed himself with a sword and is very ready to draw some Imperial blood.

Hadvar’s eyes plead with me to chose him over Ralof.

“Lass, who are going to trust? The man who rode in a death wagon with you, stood by you at the block and then pulled you safety? Or the man who didn’t have your name on his Imperial shit list and still led you to the block to lose your head?” Ralof paused a moment to let his words sink in. Looking at Hadvar, he said, “Planning to let the lass go when you get out of here, are you Hadvar?”

Ralof’s logic was sound, but it wasn’t his words that made up my mind for me, it was Hadvar’s silent response to Ralof questioning my freedom.

“I am going with Ralof. I know he is a kinsman and a true Nord. I trust him.”

My words sting Hadvar. I think slapping him in face might have hurt him less. “Fine!” He shouts, “I hope that dragon take you both to Sovngarde!” Hadvar pushes past us and runs for safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three will be posted by May 8th.


End file.
